I look down at it, mentally tallying up the carb points. “I shouldn’t eat this.”

Her hands go to her hips and she gets a little scowl on her face. “Are you on this diet thing again?”

I snort. “I’ve been on a diet for seven days, but all I’ve lost is a week. Heck, all my cardio consists of is walking to the fridge—hence the attempt at yoga.”

“You’re talking crazy.”

“No, I’m serious. Ma is short and curvy, and I got the gene. My muffin top is a three-layer cake!”

“Why do this to yourself?” She exhales a breath and sits down across from me. I sense a lecture coming.

“Pen, you don’t get it.”

Her eyes are kind as she takes my hand. “Stop comparing yourself to others. That isn’t the Charisma I know.”

“I know…but I keep thinking about those horrible nicknames—”

“That was a long time ago.”

“But,” I remind her, “you never heard people call you those things.” I run my fingers over the rim of my cup. “And then Trevor…” I blow out a breath, my head going back to the popular, crazy-good-looking guy I was in love with back in high school, the one who admitted at prom he’d only asked me because his friends dared him to take the chubby girl to the last big party of the year. Most of the time I don’t think about him or the horrible, awful feeling that crawled inside me when he pulled that, but I’m slipping. I’m losing my confidence. My mojo is MIA, probably hiding in a corner eating a bacon salad.

“Trevor was an asshole, a stupid immature boy. I’ve never met him, but if I do, I will slay him for you. Heck, I’ll sic Vampire Bill on him. His claws are sharp.”

“I know life is too short for self-hatred and carrot sticks every day, but damn, have you seen Dani up close? She’s practically a supermodel.”

“Enough of that.” She jumps up, opens a junk drawer, and comes back with a compact mirror. Flipping it open, she holds it in front of my face. “Look at you. Your eyes have these little golden sparks, and…come on…your boobs are amazing—much better than my titlets.” She smirks. “Hey, remember those two tennis guys who got into an argument over who was going to buy you a drink at Caddy’s once? They nearly came to blows over you, Charm, and you dissed them both. You have something about you, a little extra sparkle that makes men nuts.”

I laugh. “Pretty sure it was those kickass shoes I had on that night—you know the ones, the four-inch leopard heels.”

“Those are great shoes, not denying it, but…it was you. You’ve got sass, baby.”

I sigh. “My sass packed her bags and left three months ago.”

Her lips tighten, and I figure she’s remembering how I moped around the house and refused to go anywhere he might be. “I know, I know. You haven’t been your usual confident self. Don’t let seeing Blaze with her—”

“Blaze?” asks Ryker as he waltzes into the room, fresh from a shower.

I arch a brow. “No offense, QB1, you’re my boy and all, but you are the last person I want to talk to about him."

He holds his hands up. “Message received. Don’t talk about one of my best friends in front of you ever.”

There’s an awkward silence, and I frown. I don’t want that. I don’t want to be the friend everyone walks on eggshells around.

“I know he’s your friend,” I mumble. It makes things even harder. Normally, I never would have chosen Blaze for a hookup—too hot, too aware that every girl in the room wants him—but we were thrown together in the same friend group, and things just happened…like his cock inside me.

Whoa. Don’t even think about him and his—

See, there I go.

I take a sip of coffee as Ryker exchanges a long look with Penelope and then glances back at me. “He’s my friend and you are too, so don’t sweat it.” He shrugs then moves to the sink to wash out his mug and tells Penelope he needs to check in with his advisor.

My ears perk up. “I thought you senior studs would be focused on the draft instead of classes.”

He nods. “Some are. Blaze and I are still working on our degrees—” He gives me a sheepish look. “Shit, there I go again. Sorry, Charm.”

I clear my throat. “Pfft, it’s fine. So you might be the number one draft pick, right? Some kind of NFL superstar?” Yes, I’ve been keeping up with the media coverage even though I haven’t let on.

His blue-green eyes gleam. “Right, but I don’t want to be an NFL superstar—I want to be THE NFL superstar.” He says this with a lilting Game-of-Thrones style accent and places his hands behind his head, flexing as he preens.

I snort.

“I’m so proud of you, baby.” Penelope sashays over, wraps her arms around his shoulders, and kisses him.

“PDA much?” I consider tossing a cinnamon bun at them, but it looks too pretty.

They ignore me.

My hands curl around my mug, and I stare down at the table, thinking about Blaze.

I let myself get sucked in by a player, and I should’ve known better. I know how guys like him operate.

Thoughts of my father creep in. Frank Rossi’s the kind of man women have always gushed over. Even nuns blush when he walks in a room. A tall, strapping, handsome man with a wide smile, he and my older brother Paulie own a successful plumbing company back home. And Ma? She knew he was a cheater. I heard the whispers about him in the neighborhood and even from my friends. He can unclog my pipes anytime. Can’t keep it in his pants. I recall a morning when I walked in on her in the laundry room with my dad’s shirt clutched to her chest as she picked at the lipstick there. But the biggest, most awful part? I watched him come out of a former teacher’s house and give her a passionate kiss once. He never saw me, and sometimes I wonder if I’d said something, maybe things would have changed. Perhaps. Perhaps not. I was only twelve and terrified my parents’ marriage was over, but that same night he sat down to dinner with us as if nothing was amiss.

And when Ma brought him pie, he pulled her close and kissed her.

Beautiful men with enough charm to win over a nun are trouble. It’s why I pick the nice quiet ones; it’s why I have my rules.

Ryker’s moaning brings me back. His hands cup her ass.

“Geeze, guys! Your bedroom is literally down the hall.” Grabbing my coffee and the cinnamon roll, I flounce out of the kitchen and go to my room.

“Sexy mama, gimme a bite!” greets me as I walk in.

I snort at Vampire Bill. “Ah, you can be sweet. Sorry, dude, this bun might make you sick. How about a celery stick? They’re in the fridge, and we both know I’m not gonna eat them.”

He cocks his head. “No!”

I rub his head. “Smart bird.”

*

Later that day, I head to my appointment with my advisor in the fine arts building, a huge modern structure full of classrooms and personal student studios. I spent a lot of time there last fall, prepping my portfolio. Waylon has one of the best graphic design programs in the country, which was a deciding factor in me coming so far south to attend college.

“Charisma! So wonderful to see you,” says Dr. Alfonsi as I walk into his office. A handsome man in his fifties with a broad grin and gray at his temples, he’s elegant and stylish in an expensive, well-tailored suit. He’d fit right in at a street cafe in Rome sipping a morning espresso.

He’s from the Bronx area, and when he saw my hometown on another professor’s advisee list a few years ago, he traded to get me on his.

He gives me a smile and indicates I should take a seat. “You must come to dinner soon. Anne and I have a pre-med student you should meet. I never brought him up before because he was seeing someone, but not anymore. He comes from a good family in Brooklyn—”

“Don’t start with the matchmaking, Dr. A. I’m over guys right now.”

In the past, he’s asked me over for dinner and then a “nice young man” shows up and joins us. One was gay, one picked his nose, and one asked to borrow money from me. I usually go along with those setups because, well, Anne is a great cook, and the food reminds me of home.

He frowns, the deep lines on his forehead creasing. “Is something bothering you, dear? Has some young man broken your heart?”

I sigh, not going there. What would I say? The hottest guy on campus left me for an upgrade? “I’m fine, but Prescott canceled my internship this morning.”

“Oh, no.” His brow knits, and I guess I should have smiled more when I walked in the door, but it’s hard to pretend when this new semester, new you thing isn’t working for me no matter how many pep talks I give myself.

“I’m sorry, dear. You look terribly unhappy. Let me know if I can write you a new letter for any applications. I’ll do some checking to see if I can find some open spots, but odds are it will be tough.”

I sigh. “I know.”

He takes my schedule from my hands and looks it over. He’s wearing a smile when he looks up at me. “This lineup of classes will put you to sleep, Charisma. Come on, spice it up a little. Let’s switch one of these out for something exciting.”

“Just a few easy classes and I’m out of here.”